


Crooked

by tesha198



Series: Broken [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall, BAMF Stiles, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, M/M, Misunderstandings, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Leaves the Pack, Team Arrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesha198/pseuds/tesha198
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Sheriff dies during the battle with the Nogitsune, Stiles power becomes unstable. When the pack starts considering options of how to deal with him Stiles decides to run and leaves Beacon Hills without a word. He winds up in Starling City and crosses paths with the Arrow, who takes him under his wing. However it isn't long before Stiles' old life with the pack catches up to his new life with Team Arrow and he has to decide where his allegiances lie - with Derek or with Oliver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> Story is completed and will be updated once a week until all chapters are posted. A sequel is also in the making, so stay tuned for that! 
> 
> Hope you like it and let me know what you think in the comments!!

Stiles stood statuesquely still, hidden behind a door out of sight of the pack. A sliver of a crack was all that allowed him to peer out at his friends and he squinted, desperately trying to do so without giving himself away.

The pack stood gathered around a table in Derek’s loft, silently assessing each other in clear discomfort at the topic at hand. Stiles held his breath, straining to hear anything and everything being said, infinitely thankful his magic had progressed enough to shield his scent from any prying noses.

“We need to do something.” Derek insisted, his expression looking even darker than usual. “He’s dangerous.”

“Don’t you think Stiles should be here before we decide anything?” Scott frowned, looking almost pained as he tried to convince the pack. “He is a member of this pack.”

“He hasn’t been himself since the Sherriff…” Derek trailed off, his face pulling into a pained frown.

“Died.” Malia interjected, shrugging when the rest of the pack turned to glare at her callous remark. “What? Someone had to say it.”

Stiles cringed, images of his father crumpling dead before his eyes flashing vividly through his mind.

“The point is he’s not himself.” Derek returned bitterly, snapping Stiles out of his flashbacks. “There’s no need to involve him.”

“But this is literally about him.” Scott tried to reason desperately.

“His dad’s death pushed him over the edge.” Derek growled, fixing Scott with a harsh glare. “His spark is too powerful for him to control. Do you really want to involve him when his next emotional breakdown could kill any one of us?”

Scott frowned but fell into silence, no longer fighting on Stiles behalf. Stiles face contorted into anger from his hiding place, resisting the urge to leap forwards and demand an explanation from his supposed best friend.

“He could get it under control.” Scott mumbled, barely audible and completely unconvincing.

“He’s had months to get control.” Derek replied, voicing what everyone was thinking but none wanted to say. “It’s either going to consume him or kill the rest of us. You’re the Alpha now Scott, you don’t have the privilege of naiveté anymore.”

Scott visibly cringed, then squared his shoulders, exuding the confidence of an Alpha despite his clear discomfort.

“We’re getting distracted.” Lydia sighed, pulling the pack back to their original topic. “We were discussing options.”

“In cases like this there are really only two options.” Peter announced, snarky as ever. “Locking him up or eliminating the threat. Personally I vote for elimination.”

“Locking him up should be our first option.” Scott narrowed his eyes at Peter.

“And you’re confident you can get close enough to overpower him.” Peter arched a brow, amusement clear in his eyes.

Scott opened his mouth then hesitated and closed it before speaking.

“That’s what I thought.” Peter shook his head, staring at Scott as if he were an impertinent child. “Elimination it is.”

Stiles inhaled sharply, completely shocked that the pack would agree with one of Peter’s crazy plans, especially one that culminated in his death. A heavy pit formed in the bottom of his stomach and he swallowed, desperately trying to ignore his quickly escalating nausea.

The pack wanted to kill him.

He exhaled again, closing his eyes to calm himself. When he opened them he peered through the crack with steely determination. If they were going to kill him, he wasn’t going to give them the chance.

* * *

 

The train was old and run down, the station even more so. He stepped off, peering across the platform guardedly, watching for any employees who might try to stop him. Hastily, he flicked the hood of his hoodie up to cover his head and shadow his face. His eyes flitted around the station hyper-vigilantly, scanning every passerby and assessing every possible threat. His hands were clenched into fists and crammed into his hoodie pockets, buzzing with magic and primed for any sort of attack. Most people moved out of his way, seemingly sensing an unspoken power radiating from his small frame.

An oversized, albeit decrepit, sign advertised _Starling City_ at the exit of the station. As he stepped out into the dim light of evening, Stiles grimaced. The station seemed like the Taj Mahal in comparison to the streets of the city, and that was saying something. The pavement beneath his feet was cracked and heaving and the buildings overhead were crumbling. Even the streetlights, just beginning to turn on as the sun was setting, seemed dim and flickered as if resisting illuminating the night. He’d never set foot in a slum this bad before, and after having spent two months on the road with no money and no one to rely on for help, that was a big indicator of how run down the neighborhood actually was.

Stiles walked with his head down, his hood fully shadowing his face and making it impossible for anyone to recognize him. Feigning obliviousness, he bumped into a passerby, spluttering an apology, all the while ensuring his face remained hidden. The man seemed irritated but grunted and continued on his way, completely unaware of Stiles’ true intentions. Grinning in satisfaction Stiles raised his face as soon as the man was out of sight, reveling in the heavy wallet now perfectly at home in his grasp. As quickly as possible he opened it and grabbed the bills inside, tossing the rest into the nearest drain cover to get washed away in the sewer system. He might be desperate for money, but he was no idiot, he knew not to use plastic lest the police track him. He counted the bills as he walked, a solid fifty dollars, which he promised would be going towards at least one plate of curly fries by the end of the night.

 

* * *

 

After only three days in Starling City, Stiles was already sure he could survive without detection. The police had their hands full with a vigilante and a substantial body count, and the overabundance of crime covered up his thievery and own crime spree nicely.

He’d already managed to establish a fairly sizeable nest egg as he explored the slums. Drug dealers and criminals were the perfect targets. None of them would report him and he didn’t have to worry about feeling guilty when using his spark to get anything and everything he wanted. He was small, no one saw him as threat until it was too late, and by that time they were either dead or Stiles was long gone with whatever he’d come for.

He leant against a warehouse wall, hidden by an oversized stack of crates as he listened to the deal going down. The voices echoed off the warehouse walls, making it all to easy for Stiles to determine what was going on. Unwittingly he’d stumbled into a crime ring, the fencing of illegal weapons based on the military grade heat everyone in the warehouse was sporting.

“Three million.” A gravely voice announced, and Stiles grinned as he heard the click of a latched briefcase being opened.

There it was, exactly what he’d been waiting for. Big guns meant big money, and after spending months living on twenties and skipping from town to town, three million sounded like more than enough to start a new life. An untraceable life under a new identity so the pack couldn’t find him.

Inhaling deeply he raised his hands, feeling the familiar pulse of his spark as it flung the monstrous crates across the warehouse, squashing a few of the men like bugs.

“Hi there.” Stiles smiled, his face once again masked by a hoodie save for his venomous grin. “Mind if I take that?”

Guns began to fire on him and he scoffed, moving to grab the case with the money as the bullets hit everything except for his person.

“Hold it.” A murderous voice instructed harshly, making Stiles roll his eyes as he turned to face the man daring to give him instructions.

“Oh I am.” Stiles returned, patting the side of the case he was now holding. “Thanks for the donation.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” The man spat, leveling his gun at Stiles head. “If you think you can just walk out of here you’re mistaken.”

“It’s funny how everyone who tells me that winds up dead.” Stiles sighed, flitting his wrist and watching as the man flew across the warehouse and became impaled by a metal beam. “I mean not funny for you, but you get the point.”

Stiles tipped an imaginary hat at the man hanging from the metal beam, now dead, and turned to leave with the case.


	2. Secrets and Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be coming quicker than I originally planned. The sequel is almost done and I want to have this story 100% up before I post the next part.
> 
> Loving everyones comments and glad you're enjoying the story. Keep me posted with any thoughts or questions!

Oliver watched silently as a wall of crates suddenly flew across the warehouse, relaxing his bow in shock as a scrawny kid marched forward from behind them. His face was mostly hidden but his smirk was unmistakable. With every move he made men fell, inexplicably and without fail, as if an invisible force were doing his bidding. Curious, Oliver watched as the boss of the criminal syndicate he’d been tracking for weeks moved to shoot the kid, only to be flung across the room and impaled.

The kid turned to leave and Oliver drew his bow, firing and watching in satisfaction as the sedative took effect and the kid fell unconscious on the warehouse floor. He jumped down from the rafters and pulled the small arrow from the boy’s neck.

“Diggle.” Oliver ground out, pressing a finger to the com in his ear.

“You get him?” Diggle replied over the com.

“Yes and no.” Oliver replied, tilting his head to the side as he stared down at the kid.

“That’s pretty much a one answer question.” Diggle returned confusedly. “What did only the left half of him survive?”

“Someone else got to him first.” Oliver rolled his eyes, slinging Stiles over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Someone else?” Diggle repeated in disbelief.

“Yeah. A kid.” Oliver grunted, readjusting Stiles weight on his shoulder as he walked. “I’m bringing him back to base.”

“You’re bringing him here?” Diggle barked disapprovingly.

“Trust me you’re going to want to meet this kid.” Oliver replied.

 

* * *

 

Stiles groaned and clenched his eyes shut, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. He was on something hard and cold, and his entire body felt heavy. He’d been kidnapped enough in Beacon Hills to know he’d been drugged, he just couldn’t figure out by who. He’d killed everyone in the warehouse.

He clenched and unclenched his fingers, slowly readjusting to the mobility in his limbs. Hearing a clang nearby he sprung upright, his eyes flashing open to an immense pain behind them.

“Good. You’re up.” An unfamiliar gravely voice greeted him.

“What is this?” Stiles demanded, realizing his feet were chained to the end of some sort of metal operating table. “Where’s my money?”

“You mean the money being used to fund a massive arms ring?” Oliver corrected amusedly. “It’s with the police. It’s evidence.”

“Are the handcuffs really necessary?” Stiles demanded darkly, livid three million dollars had disappeared from under his nose.

With a flick of his wrist the latches of the cuffs unclipped and the metal cuffs clattered to the floor, dangling uselessly from the end of the table. Stiles rubbed his ankles for a few seconds, sure there would be bruises if he rolled up his pants, before swinging his legs off the operating table and squaring his shoulders to the man who’d kidnapped him.

“You should really be careful who you choose to kidnap.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at the man.

He was clad in green, his face hidden by an oversized hood and a bow clenched in his hand. Furious about losing the money and being held captive Stiles flung his arm harshly to the side, watching coldly as a table followed his gesture across the room.

Oliver was ready, and in an instant his bow was drawn and aimed for Stiles, arrow at the ready. He released the arrow and Stiles flinched, the arrow bouncing off an invisible barrier mere inches from his face. In a completely ungraceful flailing of limbs Stiles was off the table and rushing for the hooded vigilante once again taking aim at his head. Oliver easily ducked out of the way when Stiles tried to grab for him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Oliver grunted, rolling over the operating table to avoid another one of Stiles lunges.

“I don’t think you can.” Stiles growled back, continuing to chase the hooded man around the dimly lit room.

“I just want to talk.” Oliver sighed with a frown, his brow furrowing in frustration. “You took down an entire syndicate single handedly without laying a single blow. I’d like to know how.”

Stiles froze, assessing the vigilante with narrowed eyes filled with skepticism.

“So you want a favor from me and your first thought was to chain me to a table?” Stiles scoffed, his mouth setting into a hard line.

“Not a favor. Information.” Oliver replied, setting his bow down now that Stiles wasn’t chasing him around the base with murderous intent.

“Where I come from they’re one and the same.” Stiles huffed bitterly, images of Peter flashing through his mind. “And what makes you think I’d tell you anything?”

“You seem like someone who wants to keep his life.” Oliver offered, cocking his head to the side as he stared curiously at Stiles.

“Try again.” Stiles rolled his eyes, crossing his arms agitatedly over his chest.

 “I like him.” Diggle suddenly appeared, voice dripping with amusement as he strolled down the stairs and into the base. “He doesn’t put up with your crap.”

“Who are you, the sidekick?” Stiles arched a brow, watching as the man’s expression transformed from amusement to mild irritation.

“Still like him?” Oliver chuckled, clapping Diggle on the back.

Diggle simply grunted, biting his tongue so as not to restart a fight.

“What if I told you I could offer you a job?” Oliver asked, redirecting his attention to Stiles once more.

“Does this job pay three million dollars?” Stiles returned, stubbornly refusing to forget about his missing money.

Oliver and Diggle glanced at one another, sharing a knowing look before Oliver replied.

“Why don’t we start with one hundred and see how it goes?” Oliver replied.

“Seriously? One hundred dollars? I could mug someone uptown and get more than that.” Stiles frowned.

“Not one hundred dollars, one hundred thousand dollars.” Oliver corrected with a smirk, watching amusedly as Stiles’ eyes widened in shock.

“I’m listening.” Stiles nodded, shock quickly fading to a heavy mask of doubt.

“How did you subdue the syndicate?” Oliver asked again.

“Power.” Stiles shrugged, face scrunching into puzzlement. “It’s complicated.”

“Try us.” Diggle insisted with a nod.

“It’s called a spark.” Stiles sighed, dragging his hand through his hair and shifting his weight uncomfortably. “It’s rooted in belief, the stronger I believe something the more powerfully it will happen. If I wanted to I could convince myself this building was underwater and it probably would be.”

“You believe you’ll subdue your opponents so you do.” Oliver returned, a statement rather than a question.

“Essentially.” Stiles nodded. “Again, it’s complicated. Even I don’t fully understand it.”

“We could use someone like you on the team.” Oliver announced, Diggle nodding in agreement at his side.

“That depends.” Stiles grimaced with a huff. “Can that hundred grand be paid in cash?”

“Why?” Oliver asked after sharing an apprehensive look with Diggle.

“There are people… looking for me.” Stiles explained, involuntarily scowling at the mention of the pack. “Cards can be tracked.”

“The card will be under my name.” Oliver replied levelly.

“Really? Are vendors in Starling City inclined to accept plastic from _The Arrow_?” Stiles scoffed disbelievingly.

“The Arrow no.” Oliver shrugged, pausing before pulling back his hood to reveal his face to Stiles. “Oliver Queen yes.”

Stiles said nothing and his expression didn’t make the slightest change towards shock.

“You don’t seem surprised?” Diggle asked, slightly impressed.

“Well it’s not like any junkie off the street could financially support a vigilante lifestyle. I’m assuming your weapons weren’t cheap.” Stiles shrugged, eyeing Oliver as if searching for something. “I didn’t expect the rich pretty boy type but hey, everyone has secrets right?”

“Are you going to join or not?” Oliver asked, somewhat annoyed by Stiles’ description of him.


	3. Following Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next part, let me know what you think in the comments!   
> More to come soon.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Diggle whispered harshly to Oliver, having pulled Oliver away before Stiles could agree to join them. “He’s powerful. But he’s also dangerous.”

“Sidekick’s right.” Stiles sighed, leaning lazily against a table. “You know nothing about me.”

“We have enough problems without whoever’s hunting him tracking him here.” Diggle griped, not bothering to whisper anymore. “Do we really want to add a new enemy to the mix? Our list is long enough.”

“This kid.” Oliver began, gesturing to Stiles who wiggled his fingers at the two men with a wink. “Single handedly took down a warehouse of criminals. Armed criminals. So we have two options, kill him or recruit him. And something tells me killing him isn’t really feasible.”

“It’s not.” Stiles chuckled with a nonchalant shrug, absently playing with an arrow he’d picked up off the table.

“You planning on leaving the city?” Oliver asked Stiles, watching him cautiously as he twirled the arrow.

“No immediate plans.” Stiles replied, pricking the tip of the arrow with his finger to gauge its sharpness before tossing it aside disinterestedly.

“He’s here in the city. Those people you’re worried about following him are probably going to wind up here anyways. Wouldn’t you rather know what we’re up against?” Oliver fixed Diggle with a challenging stare, daring him to disagree.

Diggle sighed, conceding with a frown and nodding to Stiles, “Welcome aboard.”

“Name?” Oliver demanded in a gravely voice, staring at Stiles.

“Stiles.” He replied, glancing amusedly at Diggle. “He always this sociable?”  

“More or less.” Diggle chuckled, quickly masking his amusement with suspicion. “So what’s the deal with your pursuers?”

“Old friends turned enemies I guess?” Stiles pursed his lips, unsure how to explain anything relating to his old life with the pack. “My power grew, their solution was killing me, so I ran. They’ve been hunting me ever since.”

“How many?” Oliver asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Six? Maybe more by now.” Stiles sighed, sure Scott and Derek had already begun growing the pack as they’d planned.

“Why do they want you dead?” Diggle asked, an undercurrent of accusation in his voice.

“I didn’t do anything if that’s what you’re implying.” Stiles bit back harshly. “A few months ago my dad died and my power became unstable. They were afraid I would hurt someone. I didn’t exactly have time to conduct interviews before I left.”

“Your dad died?” Diggle repeated, staring at Stiles with sympathy filled eyes.

“He followed me into something he couldn’t walk away from.” Stiles spoke bitterly, staring at the floor, as his eyes grew hazy with memories of his father.

“And what was that exactly?” Diggle pressed.

“None of your business.” Stiles replied, glaring at Diggle maliciously.

There was no way he was telling anyone about running with a pack of werewolves, especially a vigilante with a hit list a mile long and a body count to match. The pack may have been figuratively dead to him, but that didn’t mean he wanted to make it literal.

“Your instability probably stems from emotional turmoil.” Oliver pondered aloud, earning an eye roll from Stiles.

“Thanks doctor Phil.” Stiles spat sarcastically. “You going to tell me about my childhood next?”

“I can teach you control.” Oliver offered firmly, ignoring Stiles smarminess.

“Okay but… that one hundred grand is still on the table right?” Stiles asked, glancing between Oliver and Diggle.

 

* * *

 

 

“Home sweet home.” Oliver sighed, shooting a sideways glance at Stiles as he followed him into the house.

“A little small for my taste. Call me old fashioned but I prefer a palace.” Stiles replied sarcastically, dumping his bag on the floor of the foyer.

Oliver chuckled, shaking his head at Stiles as he picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“Who’s your friend?” Thea’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs where she was leaning over the bannister to get a better look at Stiles.

“Thea, this is Stiles.” Oliver said, motioning to Stiles who was following him distractedly up the oversized staircase. “He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“Sure make yourself at home.” Thea shrugged, turning to walk back to her room. “Not like it’s a bad idea to invite strangers into our home.”

“She seems nice.” Stiles frowned, watching as Thea slammed her door.

“She’s been through a lot.” Oliver tried to reason, a hint of a grimace flashing across his face before he expertly masked it.

“We’ve all been through a lot.” Stiles scoffed, glaring at Thea’s closed door before following Oliver into a nearby room.

The room was far bigger than it need be for sleeping. A huge bed sat against the wall directly across from the door and a wall-to-wall wardrobe covered another. An elaborate headboard and a fancy piece of art decorated the room, and a second door led to what Stiles assumed would be an attached bathroom once he had the chance to explore.

“What happened to you exactly?” Oliver asked, eyeing Stiles as he tossed his hoodie aside, covered in dirt and small flecks of blood from the warehouse.

“Probably something along the lines of what happened to you.” Stiles shrugged, fixing him with a knowing stare.

Oliver stared back, slightly impressed but mostly taken aback by Stiles sudden assessment of him.

“It’s in your eyes.” Stiles explained when Oliver stood staring at him, silently awaiting an explanation. “They look cold. They look like mine. You’ve lost people. Probably more than you care to admit. And I’m guessing right now you’re just trying not to lose yourself.”

“We all have a past.” Oliver sighed, readjusting the cuff of his shirt as if a nervous tick.

“So I’ve been told.” Stiles sighed, falling onto the bed and stretching out like a cat. “When do we start training?”

“Tomorrow.” Oliver replied with a curt nod. “For now get some sleep.”

With that Oliver turned and left the room, shutting the door as he did so and leaving Stiles alone in a room bigger than he’d ever had the luxury of staying in. Stiles rolled over on the bed, staring out the oversized window that covered most of the far wall and led out onto a small balcony. A full moon was illuminating the otherwise dark night and Stiles frowned, hating the ever-present reminder of the pack and their betrayal. Rolling over so his back was to the window he slammed his eyes shut and allowed sleep to take him, praying to dream of anything but the broody, leather-clad werewolf who’d been haunting him since he ran.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re not following through.” Oliver barked, circling Stiles with a murderous expression. “In a real fight you’d be dead. No hesitation, no mercy. Follow through.”

“I thought you were teaching me control.” Stiles panted, dripping with sweat. “Pretty sure I can figure out murder on my own.”

“Funny.” Oliver growled, narrowing his eyes amusedly at Stiles. “Now follow through.”

“I don’t want to kill you.” Stiles panted, straightening up with his hands on his hips.

“That’s where the control comes in.” Oliver returned, continuing to circle him.

“Right.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Or the murder.”

A brief moment of silence passed between them before Oliver’s voice fell into a cold, detached drawl and his body tensed as he drew his bow.

“Live or die. It’s up to you.” Oliver bit, narrowing his eyes and suddenly shooting an arrow at Stiles.

Stiles yelped and dove out of the way before he could be shot, instinctively throwing his hands out towards Oliver and sending him flying backwards.

“Damn it.” Stiles swore, rushing to help Oliver up off the floor.

Oliver groaned, wincing in mild pain as he allowed Stiles to guide him to his feet.

“For the record, I warned you.” Stiles grimaced, helping Oliver sit on the operating table in the middle of the room.

“No, I’m alive.” Oliver winced, popping his shoulder back in and cracking his neck. “It’s progress.”

“And people say I’m the one with the sense of humor.” Stiles chuckled with a smirk.


	4. Murder and Meditation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep the comments coming! Loving your thoughts so far!  
> New chapter to come quickly.

“So who’s the mark today?” Stiles asked, punching the wooden dummy as Oliver stood a few feet away assessing his form.

“You heard of the drug Vertigo?” Oliver asked, propping himself on a table to adjust his bow.

“I spent a few days in the glades. What do you think?” Stiles scoffed, stopping his training and wiping the sweat off his brow. “I thought that guy was behind bars.”

“Dead actually.” Oliver corrected, making Stiles raise his brows in silent surprise. “Left quite the gap in illegal narcotics.”

“New kingpin huh?” Stiles asked, pulling off his shirt dripping with sweat.

“Yeah.” Oliver nodded, putting his bow down having finished the adjustments. “And we’re going to relieve him of that position.”

“Sweet let’s go.” Stiles grinned, practically vibrating with energy.

 

* * *

 

 

The streets were damp, glistening from a rainstorm that had been raging all day but dissipated to a slight mist now that the sun had set. The streetlights illuminated every puddle with an eerie glow, making the empty streets even more ominous than usual.

“Stay sharp.” Oliver instructed, holding his bow at the ready as they walked.

Stiles glanced around, constantly scanning the streets as they moved. Oliver had insisted he carry knives despite his ever-present magical abilities and he was hyperaware of the extra weight on his left ankle and back belt-loops. The crumbling hotel the new kingpin was using as his base came into view, decrepit and seemingly abandoned.

Oliver motioned for Stiles to follow him before silently shooting an arrow up onto the roof and using it to propel himself onto the roof.

“Seriously?” Stiles huffed in an aggravated whisper.

In a flash of power Stiles was beside him on the roof, arms crossed and face pulled into an irritated scowl.

Without a word or even a glance at Stiles and his sudden materialization at his side, Oliver ran for the door and entered the building, Stiles following close behind. After a few moments of silently navigating the winding halls, they found the large room the kingpin and his inner circle were using to play poker. As if a ghost, Oliver swung up into the rafters, becoming invisible in the shadows of the ceiling.

“Mind if I join you?” Stiles asked, nonchalantly walking up to the circular table and taking a seat.

The men looked startled at first before the kingpin frowned and his men pulled out their guns. The sound of clicking echoed through the room as the men angrily pulled the triggers to find their guns useless. Stiles grinned amusedly, leaning back in the chair with complete confidence. Oliver’s control lessons hadn’t been for nothing, and although he hadn’t mastered anything yet, he still had a few new tricks up his sleeve.

“Who are you?” The kingpin demanded harshly.

“Think of me as a concerned citizen.” Stiles replied, twirling one of the poker chips in his fingers. “Now I hear you’re the new man in charge when it comes to drugs.”

“You’ve been grossly misinformed.” The man replied, folding his hands in his lap and leaning back in his chair.

“Now see that’s what I said.” Stiles replied with over exaggerated agreement. “No way a nice guy like you runs illegal narcotics. But here I am.”

“A concerned citizen.” The man repeated Stiles previous statement.

“Exactly.” Stiles nodded, pointing at the kingpin with a grin. “So tell me. Where are you getting the drugs?”

“Again. You’ve been misinformed.” The kingpin smirked back.

Stiles huffed and shook his head with an exaggerated frown.

“Now see, I was hoping we could do this the easy way.” He sighed.

With a flick of his wrist the man nearest him at the table went flying across the room and all hell broke loose. The other men lunged for Stiles and in a flurry of Stiles’ power and Oliver’s arrows, they were all quickly disposed of.

The second the men were on the ground, either unconscious or dead, Stiles turned his attention back to the kingpin who was running for the exit at full speed.

“Now let’s try this again.” Stiles sighed, slowly walking towards the kingpin as he struggled to open the door jammed shut by one of Oliver’s arrows.

Oliver dropped from the rafters to stand beside him, bow drawn and pointed at the kingpin who looked ready to wet himself in fear.

“Where are you getting the drugs?” Oliver demanded in a vicious growl.

“I can’t.” The man whimpered, back to the door as if he could somehow phase through it.

“Try again.” Stiles hummed, plucking an arrow from the door and twirling it playfully.

Oliver released the bow, an arrow whirling towards the kingpin and staking his hand to the door. The man screamed out in agony clutching at his hand as if trying to stop the pain from spreading.

“They’ll kill me.” The man pleaded.

“So will we. And we seem like much more of a pressing threat right now.” Stiles shrugged, snapping the arrow he’d been twirling for emphasis.

The man hesitated, as if momentarily weighing which would be a more merciful death, before sighing.

“They come in shipments every other week. We meet the boat at the docks and transfer the drugs to a secure truck to transport to dealers for distribution.” He raced, so quickly his words seemed to slur together incoherently.

“Where does the boat come from?” Oliver demanded, threatening to release another arrow when the man hesitated.

“China I think but that’s all I know!” He insisted.

Stiles clenched his hand into a fist and watched as the man’s body fell limply into death, his hand nailed to the door the only thing holding him upright.

“Really?” Oliver sighed with a disapproving frown.

“What?” Stiles replied. “We got what we wanted and this way he can’t warn the source before we get to them.”

“We could’ve just locked him up.” Oliver returned.

“Right your relationship with the police.” Stiles nodded, turning to leave as he did so. “Remind me again, how many repeat offenders in past year?”

Oliver scowled but made no attempt to deny the alarmingly high escape rate of those he put behind bars.

“I’m not saying you have to like it, but I have enough people tracking me without adding vengeful drug dealers to the list.” Stiles huffed, throwing open the door and stepping into the fresh night air, breathing deeply to rid himself of the smell of death. “Now let’s get back to base so Felicity can track this boat.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How many bodies does this make?” Felicity whispered to Oliver dubiously.

“I don’t keep track.” Oliver replied, hanging his bow in its case.

“Well I do.” Felicity returned in her same harsh whisper. “The answer is eleven.”

“His control is improving every day.” Oliver offered, clearly not concerned in the slightest.

“So what, he mean’s to kill them so everything is fine?” Felicity demanded. “Shouldn’t that make it worse not better?”

“Just give him some time to adjust.” Oliver sighed, fixing Felicity with a pleading look. “It’s happening less now that he’s getting control.”

“Guys. Really ruining the whole meditation thing.” Stiles huffed from his place sitting cross-legged on the operating table with his eyes closed.

Part of Oliver’s control training was focus, and that came with a lot of meditation to clear his mind and focus his thoughts. Oliver and Felicity fell into silence and the base was filled with nothing but the sound of Felicity typing and Oliver grunting every so often as he did pushups.


	5. Nightmares and Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so a lot is happening here. Next chapter should be up some time tomorrow. Comment and let me know your thoughts!!

“You’re sure it’s him?” Derek growled, pacing the loft like a caged animal.

“Not entirely.” Lydia admitted with a cold anger in her voice. “But it feels like him. A trail of bodies with no visible cause of death. They’re hearts just exploded with no explanation.”

“There’s something you’re not telling us.” Scott stared at her skeptically.

“If it is him… there’s someone helping him.” Lydia frowned.

“Explain.” Derek demanded, folding his arms and stopping his pacing to glare at Lydia.

“There’s no financial trace of him. No money trail, no criminal record, no security footage. It’s like someone set him up with an alias or something.” Lydia sighed, hating the fact that the trail had run cold save for the supernatural deaths.

“So someone’s protecting him?” Derek growled darkly.

“Yeah, and whoever it is, they’re a killer.” Lydia continued. “Every police report that could be Stiles also has bodies getting shot… with arrows.”

“With arrows?” Scott repeated incredulously. “Another hunter?”

“Not sure.” Lydia shrugged. “What do you want to do?”

“We can’t risk losing the lead.” Scott admitted, looking to Derek who nodded in agreement.

“Look’s like we’re heading to Starling City.” Lydia chirped, a cool ferocity in her voice.

 

* * *

 

 

“Stiles!” Oliver’s voice cut through his unconsciousness, snapping him awake in an uncomfortable instant.

“What?” Stiles panted, his body coated in a thin layer of sweat.

He stared up at Oliver who was leaning over the bed with a concerned look on his face. With a frown Oliver carded his fingers through Stiles’ hair, making Stiles relax and his panting slow.

“You were having a nightmare.” Oliver explained, searching Stiles face for something Stiles wasn’t sure how to give him.

“Sorry.” Stiles exhaled quietly, sitting up to face Oliver’s stare head on.

Every time he closed his eyes, Stiles was plagued with nightmares. The most common was reliving his father’s death. Behind his eyes was a constant loop of his father collapsing at his mercy while possessed by the nogitusne. He’d told the pack he didn’t remember, that the possession had hazed his mind and everything from that time was a dark, incoherent blur. He’d lied. He remembered clearly, extending his arm towards his father, clenching his fist, and watching as the only parent he had left fell into death because of him. He remembered the feeling of taking a life, cutting it short before it was supposed to end. But more than anything, and perhaps what haunted him the most, was that small part of him that had liked it – that relished the power that came with holding someone’s fate in his hands. He had been powerful. Hell, he still was, and somewhere deep inside him in a place he refused to think about save for his ever-present nightmares, he actually enjoyed ending his father’s life. And every time he woke up in a cold sweat with his father’s last words echoing in his ears and his death burned into his eyes all he could think about was the small pieces of his humanity he was losing.

“We all have nightmares, Stiles.” Oliver frowned, cupping Stiles’ face with his large, comforting hands.

“How do you do it?” Stiles asked, locking eyes with Oliver in silent pleading. “How do you keep it together after everything you’ve been through?”

“Compartmentalization.” Oliver admitted, his mouth setting into a hard line.

“That’s just code for loneliness.” Stiles sighed, placing his hands over Oliver’s where they rest on his face.

“People who get close, get hurt.” Oliver replied, a cool detachment seeping into his voice.

“And Felicity?” Stiles asked, arching an eyebrow. “I see the way you look at her.”

“Felicity is a friend.” Oliver retorted after a moment’s hesitation. “Sometimes loneliness keeps people alive.”

Stiles’ brows knitted together in sympathetic understanding, images of Derek flashing through his mind. Everyone had someone they couldn’t be with, no matter how much one might wish otherwise.

Suddenly, as if his body were moving on it’s own Stiles closed the gap between them, lightly pressing his lips to Oliver’s in a tentative kiss before pulling away. They hovered with mere inches between them, both shocked by Stiles sudden advance, until Stiles broke the silence.

“We don’t have to be lonely tonight.” Stiles offered in a husky mumble.

Oliver searched his eyes again, for what Stiles still wasn’t sure, but after a few moments he closed the gap between them once more. In a flurry of desperate limbs and an almost tangible feeling of pained heartbreak existing between them, their pajamas were stripped away. Stiles closed his eyes as Oliver traced kisses down his neck and torso, images of Derek flashing through his mind. Stiles knew Oliver was simply using him as a surrogate, just as he was. There was no love in their touches, no heartfelt connection, just blind passion filled with a mutual pain.

By the time Stiles flesh was speckled with hickeys and Oliver’s back was littered with scratch marks, Oliver was pushing into Stiles with ruthless abandon. Stiles cried out under him, his chest heaving as Oliver’s muscular frame pinned him down and ravaged him. There was no kindness there, no loving embrace in his ruthless thrusts. Before long they were both panting and climaxing, basking in the comfort of another person they’d both been missing.

It was the perfect arrangement really, both of them were in the same place. Both were facing a proverbial wall, struggling to claw their way over it with nothing to show for it but hands coated in blood. Neither could afford anyone falling in love with them, the sex was just that.

They lay next to each other, panting and coming down from the high of sex before sleep overtook them. For the first night in a long time Stiles didn’t dream of home. Of his father or of broody werewolves in leather jackets.

 

* * *

 

 

“Get up.” Oliver smacked Stiles’ foot as he raced around the room getting dressed.

“What time is it?” Stiles groaned, clenching his eyes more tightly shut to block out the light.

“Seven.” Oliver replied, tossing Stiles a shirt that hit him in the face.

“This better be good.” Stiles huffed, sitting up and throwing on the clothes Oliver was tossing him.

Felicity was already at the base when they arrived, ready and waiting with a file folder for each of them.

“What is this?” Stiles demanded in a murderous snarl when he opened the folder to find a picture of Scott and Derek staring up at him.

“Those.” Felicity returned, typing something quickly on the computer. “Are the men asking people where they can find the Arrow. According to the plane roster, they arrived early this morning. Like two a.m. early. They’ve been searching for you ever since.” Felicity nodded to Oliver.

“I’ve never seen these people before in my life.” Oliver frowned, tossing the folder onto Felicity’s desk.

“That’s because they’re not here for you.” Stiles grimaced, flipping through the photos he’d been handed before tossing the pictures onto the desk. “They’re here for me.”

“How is that possible?” Diggle asked from his place standing behind Felicity watching her type. “You’re completely off the grid.”

“They have… skills.” Stiles sighed, unsure how to explain.

“What are you not telling us?” Oliver asked mildly irritated.

“They’ve already been to the old hotel you guys visited yesterday for that kingpin.” Felicity explained, gesturing for them to look at the security footage she’d pulled up on the screen. “They did a lot of… smelling. I’m not really sure what they were doing actually.”

All eyes turned to Stiles who frowned under their scrutiny before sweeping the photos of the pack off the desk angrily.

“Explain.” Oliver insisted, facing Stiles with calculating eyes.

“You can’t get close to them.” Stiles stated angrily. “You do they’ll know who you are. Maybe not right away, but the second they get within ten feet of Oliver Queen they’ll know you’re the vigilante.”

“How?” Oliver pressed, his voice growing gravely with impatience.

“Smell?” Stiles grimaced, knowing it sounded crazy before he spoke. “It’s hard to explain, okay. The point is you get anywhere near them as the Arrow and they’ll know you no matter what you’re wearing the next time you meet.”

“What do you suggest?” Diggle asked, eyeing Stiles suspiciously.


	6. Reunions and New Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy and don't forget to comment!

“I don’t like this.” Oliver growled over the com link.

Stiles raised a middle finger upwards to where Oliver was perched on a nearby rooftop. It had taken forever to convince Oliver to let Stiles handle the close combat with the pack while he provided aerial cover from a nearby roof. Still, his agreement was reluctant and every few minutes he complained over the com.

“Felicity, status.” Oliver demanded over the com, ignoring Stiles gesture.

“Looks like they’re a few blocks away, but closing fast. Like ridiculously fast.” Felicity replied, mild shock in her voice. “When Stiles said they would find him as soon as he went out he wasn’t kidding.”

“Stay sharp.” Oliver instructed Stiles over the com, earning another middle finger

“Stiles!” An all too familiar growl erupted, cutting through the silence of the street.

Stiles turned to lock eyes with Derek, his eyes narrowing the second he confirmed it was he who had spoken. In an instant Stiles swung, his fist connecting with Derek’s face with a sickening crack. Derek took a step back, instinctively gripping his nose as the broken bone quickly began to set. In a few moments Derek was standing there, a scowl on his face and the only clue he’d been hit the blood drying beneath his nose.

“Stiles.” Derek growled again.

“Go home Derek.” Stiles returned defiantly, his fists still clenched at his sides as if ready to throw another punch at any moment.

“Stiles, what’s happening?” Oliver’s voice inquired over the com.

Stiles didn’t respond, simply continued glaring daggers at Derek and the rest of the pack.

“Stiles, we’ve come to bring you home.” Scott announced, stepping forward and causing Stiles to tense in anticipation for an attack.

His movement didn’t go unnoticed and the wolves seemed alarmed that Stiles was poised to fight with them.

“My home is here.” Stiles glowered darkly. “Beacon Hills means nothing to me.”

“Really?” Malia cut in, rolling her eyes. “The place where your father is buried means nothing?”

“A headstone isn’t my father.” Stiles replied coldly. “He’s not coming back, and neither am I.”

“Stiles.” Scott whined, taking another step forwards.

Stiles raised his hands towards his old friend and watched as he flew across the street, landing with a thud and a grunt. Surprised, the pack growled and moved to lunge for him, only to be stopped by Derek who suddenly grabbed Stiles by the arm and pulled him towards them.

In an instant Derek was on the ground at Stiles feet, brought down by a power Stiles had been working day and night to control.

“Goodbye.” Stiles bitterly threw at Derek, turning to leave before the wolf could scramble to his feet.

Derek reached to grab Stiles’ in a last stitch attempt to force him to stay, only to find his arm fastened to the ground by an arrow through the sleeve of his leather jacket. The pack all ducked, scanning nearby buildings and shadows for the shooter but finding none. By the time they returned their focus to Stiles, he was gone and Derek was left pinned to the ground with a furious scowl on his face as he struggled to remove the arrow wedged through his jacket.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you going to tell us who they are?” Oliver asked, removing his jacket and tossing it on a nearby chair before marching upstairs.

Stiles followed close behind, face set into a cold anger from his reunion with the pack.

“Are you going to let this go?” Stiles returned.

When Oliver fixed him with a hard expression Stiles sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Fine.” He frowned, opening the door to his room and sitting on the bed. “What do you want to know?”

“They’re all children.” Oliver stated, eyeing Stiles questioningly.

“That’s not a question.” Stiles arched a brow.

Oliver narrowed his eyes at him and sat next to him on the bed, silently waiting for explanation.

“We went to high school together.” Stiles answered, eyes growing unfocused as he thought back to a simpler time. “It’s complicated but they were all… changed.”

“Into what?” Oliver pressed, studying Stiles face as it flashed through a thousand different emotions before falling back into a mask of pained anger.

“Into something not human.” Stiles replied, hesitating before deciding there was no way to tell the truth without it sounding insane. “Into werewolves.”

“Werewolves?” Oliver repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, you know, furry, sharp teeth, come out during a full moon.” Stiles explained, a hint of his usual sarcasm under his words. “Well not just during a full moon. I mean it’s harder to control on a full moon. I actually had to chain Scott to a wall to stop him from killing me. But he was bitten. Derek was born. Wow that sounds way more dramatic than intended.”

“Stiles.” Oliver sighed, squeezing his shoulder. “Calm down. Take a breath.”

With a nod Stiles inhaled and exhaled deeply, desperately trying to calm himself before he started rambling again.

“You can imagine the kind of supernatural trouble that follows werewolves around.” Stiles sighed, tears brimming in his eyes. “I tried to keep my dad out of it but I just couldn’t. He was too stubborn for his own good. It was my fault he was killed. If I’d done a better job keeping him out of it he never would’ve been caught in the crosshairs.”

“You can’t blame yourself.” Oliver sighed, staring at Stiles in complete understanding.

“No, that’s exactly what I can do.” Stiles replied, taking another breath and resetting his face into a detached mask. “It’s not just him. Aiden, Allison, people around me drop like flies.”

“I guess that’s something we have in common.” Oliver grinned, trying to comfort him.

Stiles chuckled, a dark undercurrent to the sound, but a laugh nonetheless.

“So these wolves were your family and they turned on you.” Oliver finished, filling in the blanks without Stiles’ explanation.

Stiles nodded, his face scrunching into anger as he relived their betrayal.

“Don’t worry, they wont get to you.” Oliver promised, ruffling Stiles hair. “Now get some sleep, we have names to check off tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Taking down the latest criminal was easy, a weasel of a man who was blackmailing police officers into criminal activity by threatening their families. Oliver stopped him just short of killing the man and the police were more than eager to get their hands on him. A curt nod and a thank you was all the police said before escorting the man to jail where he would no doubt face a fate much worse than the death Stiles would have granted him.

The second they got back to Oliver’s mansion, the emotions of the day came rushing through like a floodgate had ruptured. The pain and anger of facing the pack when their betrayal was so fresh in Stiles’ mind. The adrenaline of taking down yet another criminal. And the sense of control that came with sparing his life.

Stiles could tell Oliver was slipping into a similar frame of mind, his face a cool mask despite the electric passion that burned clear in his eyes. Every night spent with the team, with Felicity, was the greatest test of control Oliver had to face, and they both knew it.

The second they traipsed upstairs their clothes were off and they were falling into bed, another night of meaningless sex to dull the pain that threatened to consume them both. The old hickeys hadn’t had a chance to even begin to fade and Oliver was already speckling him with new ones. Each mark, each thrust, brought a catharsis to them both, as if the bruises and scratches they inflicted on each other could dull their pain and erase their memories. They did, if only for a short while. New wounds to mask old ones.

They once again collapsed into a tangle of limbs as sleep overtook them, sheets tangled around them.


	7. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so stay tuned for more real soon. Only 2 chapters left and when I post the last one I will also post the first chapter to the sequel which I won't say too much about until then so I don't spoil anything for either story. Comment and let me know your thoughts!

A week went by of Stiles and Oliver taking down criminals and falling into bed with each other every night. Every time the pain seemed to dull the pack would show up and try to take him, opening the wounds that were just beginning to close.

“Your friends are getting too close.” Felicity chirped, concern written all over her face.

“They’re not my friends.” Stiles griped. “And short of letting them take me, there’s not much I can do. They’re nothing if not stubborn.”

“Clearly.” Diggle huffed disapprovingly.

“Stiles, let’s go.” Oliver called, motioning for Stiles to follow him.

“Where?” Stiles asked curiously, jogging to catch up before Oliver could leave the base without him.

“Home. Then out.” Oliver returned without looking back to make sure Stiles was keeping up.

“Wow specific.” Stiles responded sarcastically, following him through the club and outside.

Oliver tossed him a motorcycle helmet and Stiles put it on without a word of argument, quickly mounting the bike and wrapping his arms around Oliver’s waist. The bike roared to life and they flew down the streets, weaving in and out of cars and around people with a speed only an expert could drive at without crashing. The mansion came into view in a matter of minutes and Stiles followed Oliver inside, still unsure what was happening.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” Stiles asked when Oliver began stripping off his clothes as he ran up the stairs.

“Change into something more presentable.” Oliver instructed, dashing into his own room to grab clothes.

“Okay. Why?” Stiles asked, marching into his room to find dress pants and a button down shirt laid out on his bed.

“We have a meeting.” Oliver replied, appearing in Stiles’ doorway fully dressed.

He wore a black suit with a white button down shirt under his jacket. The suit was clearly tailored and the button down was open just enough to give Stiles a glimpse of his collarbone.

“A meeting with who?” Stiles asked, trying not to drool over the sight of Oliver in a suit.

Before he could reply the sound of the doorbell rang through the house, echoing through the rooms and cutting off any explanation Oliver was about to give. With a slight frown Oliver adjusted the button of his suit jacket and left Stiles alone to get dressed, quickly jogging down the stairs to the front door.

“Can I help you?” Oliver asked, opening the door and speaking before looking at who had rung the bell.

“We’re looking for Stiles.” Scott’s firm voice answered, and Oliver’s eyes shot up from his cufflinks to the men standing on his porch.

One was younger, tanned with coiffed shaggy hair, and the other was older with more defined muscle and a scowl seemingly permanently plastered on his face. Oliver hesitated for a moment, recognizing the men immediately as the one’s who’d been hunting Stiles. The men stared back at him, waiting for a response or for him to call Stiles. Oliver frowned briefly, they didn’t know he knew who they were.

“Just a moment.” Oliver replied, setting his face into a calm mask to hide his anger before turning and bellowing Stiles’ name up the stairs.

Stiles came traipsing down the stairs with a frustrated expression on his face, desperately trying to button his cuffs and not trip while walking.

“I’m not ready yet.” Stiles huffed, not bothering to look up. “Not all of us were born in tuxedos.”

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice meekly spoke, making Stiles freeze and slowly draw his eyes to the door to make sure he wasn’t hearing things.

His arms dropped to his sides, forgetting about the cufflinks and leaving his torso and chest visible for all to see with his dress shirt still unbuttoned. The sight made a growl erupt from Derek’s chest as his eyes scanned Stiles body, taking an inventory of the numerous hickeys coating his skin. With a glare at Derek Stiles began buttoning his shirt, turning to walk away only to be stopped by another voice.

“Stiles. Why wont you come home?” Scott asked quietly, and Stiles knew without turning back to face him that his puppy eyes were begging him to stay.

“We’ve had this conversation.” Stiles snapped, not bothering to turn when answering. “Now leave.”

“Who gave you those?” Derek demanded, staring at Stiles back as if he had x-ray vision that allowed him to see the hickeys through his shirt.

“I think it’s best if you leave.” Oliver cut in, motioning for them to walk away and beginning to close the door.

Derek’s hand clamped around the edge of the door, forcing it open with inhuman strength.

“It was you.” He growled, his eyes flashing blue as his wolf surfaced in anger.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Stiles spat angrily, finally whirling around to find Derek approaching Oliver with murderous intent.

With his wolf taking over in a blind fit of possessive rage, Derek swung at Oliver only to be shocked when Oliver expertly blocked the hit. The shock was short lived however, and Derek quickly attacked at full force, his fangs extending and his claws making every blow potentially lethal. Oliver expertly defended, flipping out of the way and landing quite a few hits on the out of control wolf.

“Really?” Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes, annoyed. “Stop playing around Oliver.”

“Tell him not me.” Oliver threw back, kicking Derek in the chest and sending him crashing through a coffee table.

“Does it look like he has the capacity to listen right now?” Stiles huffed, crossing his arms and sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, simply watching as the two men crashed through tables and smashed holes in the drywall.

“Stay away from Stiles!” Derek roared, slashing at Oliver with his claws.

“You don’t own him.” Oliver returned with a chuckle. “He can do what he wants.”

“He’s mine.” Derek growled back harshly, taking another swing.

“Really?” Oliver arched a brow, easily dodging the sloppy attack. “Because he hasn’t felt like yours over the past few weeks.”

Derek roared in anger, taking another lunge for Oliver but missing.

“It’s not like you love him.” Oliver continued, easily taunting the already enraged wolf.

“You don’t know anything about me.” Derek snarled back.

“What are you saying?” Oliver prodded, glancing at Stiles who was watching with a mix of concern and curiosity on his face. “You love him don’t you?”

Ten minutes went by of Stiles watching the men brawl until both were left panting exhaustedly in a room that was completely trashed. The curtains were torn, tables broken into a thousand pieces and photos scattered among shards of glass from broken frames. The men didn’t look much better, bruises beginning to appear on both of them and several deep gashes on Derek that would take a while to heal, even with supernatural speed.

“Yes.” Derek panted, collapsing to sit on the floor in exhaustion, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair.

“What?” Oliver panted back, eyeing Derek knowingly.

“Yes I love him.” Derek sighed, frowning as if not wanting to admit such a thing aloud.

“Then why did you want to kill me?” Stiles cut in, drawing everyone’s eyes to him as he got up off the stairs and sauntered over to where Oliver and Derek were panting on the floor.


	8. Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to come.

“What are you talking about?” Scott asked, coming to stand by Stiles.

“I heard you guys at that meeting you wouldn’t let me attend.” Stiles frowned, eyeing Derek irately. “You were talking about how I was out of control and had to be eliminated.”

“What?” Scott gasped in complete shock. “No we weren’t.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Stiles snarled. “You said I was dangerous. That there were only two options, locking me up or eliminating me. You chose elimination.”

Scott’s face filtered through confusion and shock to recollection to amusement before he spoke to Stiles, trying to mask the laughter threatening to break through in his voice.

“That wasn’t about you.” Scott chuckled with a sympathetic grin. “It was about a druid who came to Beacon Hills to kill you.”

“What?” It was Stiles turn to stare between Scott and Derek in shock.

“When your powers grew you jumped to the top of a bunch of people’s hit lists. A lot of people wanted to steal your magic or use you. We didn’t want to worry you when you were already having a hard time with control without realizing your life was in danger.” Scott explained, watching as Stiles’ lips pursed in irritated confusion.

“Then why did you say my next emotional breakdown could kill one of you?” Stiles turned to eye Derek, who was dragging himself to his feet after Oliver had done so to stand at Stiles’ side.

“Because it could.” Derek sighed, wincing and clutching at the fresh gash on his side as he came to stand. “I’ve been where you are, empty, angry, ready to lash out at anything. Handling your father’s death wasn’t coming easily to you, more emotional stress would’ve only made you more unstable.”

“Gee thanks.” Stiles rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Glad my family had such overwhelming confidence in my sanity.”

“So you eliminated the druid?” Oliver asked, earning a harsh glare from Derek.

“Who is this guy?” Derek growled, fixing his eyes on Stiles waiting for an answer.

“Long story.” Stiles shrugged, grinning knowingly at Oliver who chuckled in response.

Derek growled at their familiarity and Oliver rolled his eyes at the wolf.

“Calm down Fido.” Oliver brushed off Derek’s animalistic warning.

“The druid is gone.” Scott nodded to Oliver before turning to Stiles. “It’s safe for you to come home.”

“How can I trust you?” Stiles mumbled, glancing to Oliver as if he could answer the question.

“We grew up together.” Scott replied, a hurt expression setting on his features. “You’re like my brother. Why would I hurt you?”

Stiles tore his eyes away from Oliver to stare at Derek, who met his gaze with a steely determination.

“I want to see the others. I want to see the rest of the pack.” Stiles announced, never breaking his stare with Derek.

“We’ll bring you to them.” Scott offered with a nod.

“No.” Stiles refused adamantly. “I want them here. Somewhere I can control.”

Stiles broke his stare with Derek to glance at Oliver who nodded in understanding, silently agreeing to host a pack of werewolves in his mansion.

 

* * *

 

 

“I see you’ve been busy.” Stiles stated, eyeing the two new wolves he didn’t recognize.

“Stiles, this is Liam and Mason.” Scott gestured to the two young wolves who seemed to be fidgeting uncomfortably in the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Enough chitchat.” Lydia snipped, marching up to Stiles and poking him in the chest. “Where have you been? And since when are you dating men? Billionaire men.”

Stiles frowned, glancing apologetically at Oliver who raised his eyebrows in amusement awaiting Stiles explanation to the feisty redhead.

“I’ve been around.” Stiles replied vaguely. “And we’re not dating.”

“Just sleeping together.” Malia voiced, earning a growl from Derek and a surprised albeit impressed look from Oliver. “What it’s obvious. Even if I couldn’t see the hickey on his collarbone I can smell it from here.”

Stiles grimaced and quickly did up another button on his shirt, not that it did much now other than make him feel slightly less exposed.

“Stop fooling around and come back Stiles.” Lydia huffed, crossing her arms and fixing him with an irritated glare that only Lydia was capable of.

“I don’t know if I can.” Stiles admitted, looking to Oliver with utter confusion. “I have a place here. I have control and friends I can trust. Friends who don’t lock me out of decisions involving my own life.”

“We didn’t lock you out.” Scott tried to reason, albeit unconvincingly seeing as it wasn’t true.

“You did Scotty.” Stiles returned, almost in a whisper, his brows knitting together in a pained expression.

A sharp ringing cut through their discussion and all eyes turned to Oliver who dug in the pocket of his disheveled suit and pulled out a cell phone. Stiles locked eyes with him knowingly, recognizing his face turn ever so slightly to adoration as Felicity spoke on the other end of the line. Oliver was silent for a short while, listening to her explain something before he replied with a simply okay and put the phone back in his pocket.

“Stiles.” Oliver began, his voice laced with an unspoken offer for Stiles to remain with his friends.

“I’m coming.” Stiles replied with a look of pure determination.

Oliver nodded and they ran for the front door, the pack following confusedly at their heels. Oliver mounted his motorcycle and Stiles climbed on behind him, once again holding his waist and earning a pained glare from Derek.

“Stiles, what’s going on?” Lydia asked, shouting so she could be heard over the sound of the bike roaring to life.

“Like I said. I have a place here.” Stiles answered elusively. “Let it go.”

With that the bike sped forwards, leaving the pack in a cloud of dust to stare at them in bewildered confusion.

“Are we letting this go?” Lydia asked, an irate expression on her face and her foot tapping in barely contained anger.

“No.” Scott replied, his eyes flashing red as he watched Stiles and Oliver speed out of sight.

 

* * *

 

 

Felicity welcomed them to the base by spouting off a quick rap sheet of their target followed by a recon on what he had just done to earn the arrows attention. It wasn’t until she was done her lengthy rant that she looked up and her eyes widened in surprise.

“What happened to you?” She asked, noticing Oliver’s emerging bruises and disheveled suit.

“Business meeting.” Oliver replied, offering no further explanation before quickly suiting up and grabbing his bow.

Stiles thanked him with a small grin, grateful Oliver was going to keep his secret at least for a little while, before following him out of the base.


	9. Decisions and Departures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok the final chapter. The sequel will be up by the time you are done reading this chapter and Oliver is in that as well (I don't want to spoil too much so check it out for yourselves!)  
> Let me know you're thoughts and hope you've enjoyed part 1 in this series. You rock for reading all the way through!!

“Oliver!” Stiles called, pushing him out of the path of a stray bullet with his power.

Oliver flew backwards, quickly flipping over to prevent himself from falling as he landed. He nodded his thanks to Stiles before rejoining the fight, knocking out one of the men firing blindly at Stiles, Diggle, and himself.

“On your six!” Diggle warned Stiles, firing his gun at one of their attackers.

Stiles spun around and downed the man, killing him without a second thought before moving on to battle the others.

A simple operation to save hostages in a bank had quickly turned into a heated battle. The hostages had fled immediately, needing very little persuasion to escape the men threatening them with semiautomatic weapons. It wasn’t log before it became clear the entire thing was a trap. The hostages meant nothing to the men waving guns around, instead the second the team breached the bank they opened fire in a premeditated siege intended to kill.

Stiles ducked out of the way of another bullet, clenching his fist in the direction of the shooter and watching as his heart exploded in his chest.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice suddenly cut through the gunfire, making everything fall silent as Stiles turned in mild shock to see the pack standing in the entrance of the bank.

“What are you doing?” Stiles demanded, turning to face the pack.

“We’re not letting it go.” Scott replied, howling a loud roar and allowing his wolf to break free as he rushed into the gunfire to help.

The rest of the pack followed their Alpha, quickly subduing the assailants and Stiles was slightly amused at the looks of horror on the criminals’ faces as they went down at the hands of clearly inhuman attackers.

“Stiles!” Oliver’s voice cut through his amusement, making him whirl around to see a bullet heading straight for him with almost no time to react.

He barely had time to raise his hands in an attempt to stop it before Derek was jumping in front of him. Stiles screamed as Derek collapsed to the ground in an ever-growing puddle of blood, bullet lodged in his chest. Without thinking he turned to the shooter and watched in twisted satisfaction as his power killed the man, painfully, before falling to his knees beside Derek.

“You asshole!” Stiles spat, applying pressure to the gunshot wound in Derek’s chest.

“I’m fine.” Derek winced, clearly in pain yet trying to mask it. “It was just a regular bullet it’ll heal.”

“An inch to the left and it would’ve hit your heart.” Stiles returned, anger and fear mixing together in his voice.

“But it didn’t.” Derek chuckled, resting his hands over Stiles’ where they were applying pressure.

“You’re such an asshole.” Stiles choked, biting back tears that he refused to let fall.

“You could just say thank you.” Derek chuckled, wincing in pain as the motion made his wound bleed more.

The wound was already starting to heal, albeit slowly, though that did nothing to calm Stiles’ frazzled nerves at the sight of the man he loved lying in a pool of blood or his own hands covered in said man’s blood.

“You could not jump in front of speeding bullets.” Stiles chuckled back, easing the pressure he was applying off a bit when the bleeding began to slow.

“I heal faster.” Derek returned, fixing Stiles with a dark, intense stare that made Stiles’ heart pound.

In the distance police sirens cut through the otherwise quite air and Oliver quickly helped Derek to his feet, supporting his weight with Scott’s assistance. As quickly as was possible with a bleeding werewolf, they all took off, leaving the bank with bodies scattered across the floor and no surveillance footage to speak of courtesy of Felicity.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re going back with them aren’t you?” Oliver asked, coming to stand next to Stiles where he was watching the pack from a safe distance.

The pack, Felicity and Diggle were all lounging around the sitting room in Oliver’s mansion, chatting and nursing well-deserved drinks after their heated battle.

“Yeah.” Stiles sighed, as if still questioning his own decision despite it being made.

“He’s the one isn’t he?” Oliver eyed Derek, who glared at him before averting his eyes and pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping with supernatural hearing.

“The one?” Stiles repeated, slightly taken aback by the phrase.

“The one you think of when your eyes are closed and we’re together.” Oliver clarified, watching in amusement as Derek’s eyes flashed blue at the mention of them sleeping together.

“Yeah.” Stiles answered after a moment’s hesitation, staring at Derek with a small smile playing on his lips. “And don’t bother denying Felicity’s yours.”

“I won’t.” Oliver sighed, glancing at Felicity briefly before tearing his eyes away from her with a grimace.

“You don’t have to do that.” Stiles shook his head disapprovingly. “She’s already by your side. She has all of the danger that comes along with being a part of the team. Just tell her how you feel already. Enough excuses.”

“It’s not that simple.” Oliver sighed, taking a sip of his drink.

“Bullshit.” Stiles scoffed, shooting Oliver a fed up glare. “It’s as simple as you want it to be.”

“We’re going to miss you, Stiles.” Oliver chuckled, shaking his head with a small grin.

“Don’t change the subject.” Stiles frowned, prodding Oliver in the chest with his finger. “We used each other to lick our wounds. No one understands what you’re feeling better than me. But that also means no one gets how big of an idiot you’re being better than me. Make a move. Before you lose your turn.”

Stiles took a big gulp of his drink before taking a few steps towards where Derek was sitting on a couch across the room. He stopped before getting too far away and turned back to Oliver with a small smile.

“I’m going to miss you too.” He grinned, downing the rest of his drink before sitting next to Derek who wrapped a possessive arm around his shoulders.

“You hurt him and a bullet wound will be the least of your problems.” Oliver mumbled, well aware Derek could hear him though Stiles couldn’t.

Derek’s mouth set into a hard line and he nodded, the only acknowledgement of Oliver’s threat despite every wolf in the vicinity having heard it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Expect a lot of phone calls.” Felicity warned, giving Stiles a hug and trying to maintain a brave face despite her obvious sadness.

“We might stop by now and then.” Oliver promised, glancing to Derek who frowned but made no objection other than holding Stiles tighter than before.

“If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to call.” Diggle firmly instructed, shaking Stiles hand with a curt nod.

“Thanks guys.” Stiles grinned at them.

He glanced around the foyer of the Queen mansion, taking in its elaborate finishes and obscene size for the last time.

“I’m really going to miss this place.” Stiles sighed. “You better call if you ever get into trouble.”

“I should be the one saying that.” Oliver chuckled with an amused grin. “I’m the one who trained you.”

“Fair enough.” Stiles chuckled in response.

“We should get going if we want to make the flight with the rest of the pack.” Derek prodded, wanting nothing more than to put miles between Stiles and the vigilante who’d been warming his bed at night.

“See you around.” Stiles nodded, shaking Oliver’s hand with a sad smile before turning to leave. “Thanks for everything.”

They climbed into the rental car and drove off, Stiles watching as his friends disappeared in the rearview mirror behind them. They came to a stoplight and Derek glanced at him, sensing his melancholy. Without warning he leaned over and pulled Stiles in for a heated kiss, stopping only when the light changed and the cars behind them started honking in irritation.

Stiles grinned, reveling in Derek’s taste on his lips and the warm blush creeping across his cheeks. He’d see Starling City again, but for now he was simply basking in the happiness that came with finally being in a relationship with Derek Hale. He smiled to himself, amused all it had taken to get Derek to admit his feelings was running away into another man’s arms that killed people for a living. But hey, he couldn’t argue with the end result. Derek loved him.


End file.
